


Best Laid Plans

by NeonPistachio



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, sort of domestic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 23:03:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19238899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeonPistachio/pseuds/NeonPistachio
Summary: Arthur invites Eames home.





	Best Laid Plans

Arthur wakes up to a headache and a concrete room. It looks like a domestic basement, judging by the windows up high and the detritus of life piled against the walls. He’s also tied to a chair.

Looks like Eames was right with his ‘I heard a rumour’ about Theresa; she sold them out after all. When Eames finds out he’ll rub it in Arthur’s face. Guess he’ll have to - 

Wait. That job finished. Theresa did sell them out. They escaped anyway, and Arthur flew home. Theresa doesn’t have any idea where Arthur went, and she’s probably a little busy at the moment to find him again. But who knew where he was planning to go? Other than Eames, but Eames wouldn’t do this unless as a practical joke, and if it was one of Eames’s practical jokes then Eames would be here to make sure Arthur didn’t over-react. 

Eames isn’t here, however, so Arthur can react however he damn well pleases.

Anger seems appropriate.

He does a quick inventory; headache, dry mouth, slight amnesia probably due to whatever they used to knock him out. Watch still on, totem still in its hidden pocket, legs not attached to the chair, chair not attached to the floor, arms tied behind his back – they didn’t even secure his hands properly, just tied them together behind the chair back. _Do these people even know who I am?_ Arthur thinks crossly. _Have they not heard the stories?_ He’s almost insulted by how little they’ve done to secure him. They’ve even missed the knife in his ankle sheath.

The only impressive thing whoever it is has managed is to knock him out for almost five hours. Arthur’s been in dreamshare long enough to have built up a tolerance to most sedatives, so at least they got something right. That they managed to catch him unawares at all is also impressive.

It does mean, however, that Arthur is four hours late to meet Eames’s plane. This is not good news. Eames doesn’t have a key to the house. He’d better get a move on if he doesn’t want to come home to find Eames having entered through creative means. Though knowing Eames, that ship has probably sailed.

First things first – untie himself. Really, these people should have used duct tape or zip ties, or at least pulled the cord tighter. With really very little wiggling he manages to get his hands through the cord. He didn’t even have to dislocate his thumbs. He’s also thankful he didn’t have to use his knife – the angle’s awkward, and he once saw a man slit his own wrist trying to cut himself free from behind.

There’s the sound of footsteps on stairs, and Arthur has only a second or two to decide what to do before the door opens. Three men come swaggering smugly in, followed by a fourth who looks naggingly familiar. They find Arthur apparently still tied to the chair, waiting with what the uninformed would think is patience, and the informed (Eames) know is the zen before the rage. These men are uninformed. They don’t know he has his knife already in his hand.

‘Mr Leyendecker, you’re awake,’ smug front man says. Arthur knows he should already be worried, these man having caught him at home, but it adds an extra dimension of wariness hearing himself being addresses by that particular alias. He’s put a lot of work into keeping that one clean and separate from anything criminal. Even more importantly, it’s the alias that owns the house Eames might be sitting in even now.

‘Please don’t be frightened,’ the man continues. _Why on earth would I be frightened?_ Arthur wonders detachedly. ‘We just want you to help us out with a little something, and then you’re free to go.’

This is beginning to sound like a planned speech. He wishes smug front man would get it over with. Eames is going to be wondering where Arthur is. ‘Help with what?’ he asks guardedly. 

The man smiles. It’s obviously meant to be both reassuring and vaguely menacing, but it just looks like he’s confused. ‘Nothing dangerous. Just do what you do best, no fuss, and you can go home safe and sound. I’m sure you’ve done it before. Just don’t get any noble ideas after the fact.’ The man tries to amp up the menacing. He looks like he’s smelled something bad.

_What he does best._ Arthur knows that if it were Eames here, he’d say something off the wall about being in a committed relationship and smug front man not being his type, or that they haven’t brought juggling balls, but since it’s Arthur and he’s very aware of time ticking away while he’s not there to welcome Eames, he doesn’t mess about. ‘I’m not doing inception,’ he says flatly. ‘It can’t be done. It’s a myth.’

For the first time, smug front man looks genuinely confused. ‘The fuck’s inception?’

Something has been off about this setup from the beginning, and Arthur has a feeling he’s about to find out what. ‘You don’t want me to perform inception?’

‘Is that some kind of sex thing?’ one of the others asks suspiciously. Arthur dubs him right side backup. Arthur ignores the question.

‘What _do_ you want me to do?’ _Hurry up please, Eames is_ waiting. If this doesn’t finish soon, Arthur's going to say ‘fuck it’ and just carve his way out. This is _not the right time for this._

Smug front man smiles in what is probably supposed to be a soothing manner. He just looks confused again. ‘We need a little… creative help with our tax returns. Nothing much, just making sure the numbers match the shipping manifests and cargo prices.’

Arthur closes his eyes. Eames is _never_ going to let him live this down. ‘You kidnapped me because you need a _tax return faked?’_

_I didn’t pick Eames up at the airport because of these idiots?_

The men look between themselves, confused by Arthur’s annoyance. Right side backup turns to glare at the fourth man, lurking at the back. ‘Did you get it wrong that he’s a tax accountant?’

Now Arthur finally places the forth man. He is, of all things, the grandson of Arthur’s next-door-neighbour, and his name is… ‘Marco!’

Marco looks sheepish. ‘Hi, Mr Leyendecker.’

‘You told me your grandfather sent those brownies!’ Which Arthur hadn’t been suspicious of, because Mr D’Agosto has sent him baked goods before. That’ll teach him to trust his neighbours.

Another thought hits. _Oh fuck, what if Eames breaks in and eats some of the brownies? He’ll think Arthur planned to drug him!_

Arthur puts that aside for the moment, takes a deep breath and counts to ten. The sheer absurdity of this whole thing is ridiculous. He told his neighbours he was a tax accountant to stop them asking questions. He expected at most a few requests for help with tax returns, not kidnapping.

‘Right,’ he says, standing up and letting the knife in his hand show. ‘You’ve got the wrong person here. I am very much not a tax accountant, and I have someone arriving very shortly who I wanted to meet at the airport. So I suggest you boys forget that you ever had the bright idea to kidnap me; in fact, forget that you ever became aware of my existence, and I’ll walk out of here without cutting off your ears for delaying me.’ Arthur knows he’s showing them him most unsettling grin, the one with all the teeth and none of the dimples, the one Eames calls his ‘motherfuckers about to get cut’ face, but these assholes have made him _four and a half hours late to pick up Eames._. 

It’s obviously intimidating the fuck out of Marco and his merry little friends, because smug front man starts backing up hastily, hands held up placatingly. ‘Look, man, obviously we got the wrong idea about you. We, uh, didn’t mean to stop you picking up your friend, so we’ll just… go now.’ He swallows, and Arthur can’t believe these idiots ever thought they were tough guys.

Arthur nods graciously. ‘That’s a good idea. I’ll be right behind you, so don’t get any bright ideas.’ He gestures them out of the basement ahead of him, and they almost trip on the stairs in their haste to get out.

Outside the building, which looks to be someone’s home and probably belongs to one of the group in front of him, the _amateurs_ , he folds his arms and glares at them. 

‘Forget you saw me,’ he tells them sternly. ‘Pretend we never met, don’t come near me, and maybe I won’t decide to come near you.’ He glares at them some more until he’s sure the point has gone across. ‘Now go, and you better pray that my friend isn’t waiting for me.’ 

Which is, of course, the moment Eames pulls up outside the house, looking pissed as hell and carrying more firearms than are usually seen in your average suburban neighbourhood.

 

*

 

‘Darling, I feel it only fair to inform you that this is _not on._ ’ Arthur tries to speak, but Eames won’t let him. ‘Inviting your dearly beloved boyfriend to your home, _finally,_ may I add, and then getting kidnapped before he even arrives. It will not do, darling. And to make matters worse,’ Eames continues, focusing on the road and ignoring Arthur’s open mouth, ‘you then go and rescue yourself without even giving your beloved boyfriend a chance to come to your rescue in a dashing and manly fashion.’

Arthur waits a second, but Eames has apparently finished his rant. ‘I didn’t mean to get kidnapped,’ he says resignedly. ‘It was a bit of a misunderstanding. And if I’d known you were coming to my rescue, I would of course have stayed where I was and let you show me your dashing and manly heroics, but as it happens, I thought you were still at the airport, or possibly breaking into my house. I didn’t know you were looking for me.’

Eames opens his mouth again, then pauses. ‘I feel that I should say, in all honesty, that I did both wait at the airport and break into your house before coming to look for you, but that was before I knew you were missing. But when I realised, I came straight to your rescue. And what do you mean, ‘a bit of a misunderstanding?’ This isn’t like the thing with the customs officer again, is it? Should I be worried?’

Arthur rolls his eyes. ‘Not that kind of misunderstanding. Definitely not like that.’

‘Then what kind? Arthur?’ Eames persists when Arthur doesn’t reply. 

‘They wanted me to ‘do what I do best.’’ He waits.

Eames doesn’t disappoint. ‘Darling, I hope you told them that you only do that with me.’

Arthur smiles a little. ‘Not that. They wanted me to do their tax returns.’

Eames grins. ‘Kinky. Well, I hope you told them that mine are the only tax returns you do now.’ He waits a second. ‘Hang on, why did they think your best thing was tax returns?’

Arthur sighs. ‘I told my neighbours I was a tax accountant. I thought it would be a safe bet to avoid interest.’

‘Oh Arthur,’ Eames looks fond. ‘You couldn’t be uninteresting if you tried.’ He goes quiet for a minute. ‘So hang on, are you telling me that you, an internationally known and feared dream criminal with many, many skillsets learned in the American military, wanted by both sides of the law and very aware of the fact, you, Mr Paranoia himself, got taken by a group of not even third rate criminals to _do their tax return?_ ’

‘Yes, that’s what I’m saying.’ Arthur _knew_ Eames was going to be like this.

‘Oh darling,’ Eames shakes his head mock sorrowfully. ‘You promised me nothing would happen, and you didn’t even make it to the airport.’

 

*

 

_One week earlier._

 

‘ _New Jersey?_ You live in _New Jersey?_ Darling, why on earth would you live there? You don’t even live in Atlantic City, you live in _Middlesex._ What sort of stylish, self-respecting, internationally wanted criminal are you?’

‘The kind, Mr Eames, who wants to remain at large.’ Arthur knows his dimples are showing, but Eames looks so honestly surprised, he can’t help it. ‘Who would expect me to live in New Jersey?’

‘Well, certainly not me. Very well then, you can show me the delights of New Jersey after this job.’ Eames pops quickly out of hiding to let off a couple of shots, then ducks back down beside Arthur. ‘Will we be safe to travel in together?’

Arthur waits to reply until after the men shooting at them have paused. ‘Best not. I’ll fly in first and get the house stocked, then you can arrive a day or so after. I’ll pick you up at the airport.’ He lets off a few shots of his own, and spots an opening. ‘Come on!’

Later, safely in a hotel, Eames asks what there is to do in New Jersey. 

‘You,’ Arthur replies. ‘I don’t plan on letting you out of bed for the whole time we’re there.’

‘Really?’ Eames teases. ‘You don’t want to show me the sights? Take me on thrilling adventures?’

Arthur laughs. ‘Don’t worry Eames, you won’t be bored. It’ll be very relaxing, and no one will be trying to kill us. From the time I pick you up at the airport to the time we fly out, I promise you nothing will happen.’


End file.
